


Chrysalis

by CheshirePrime



Category: Trouble With Angels (1966)
Genre: Gen, Post-Movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-20
Updated: 2010-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-13 19:49:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/141113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheshirePrime/pseuds/CheshirePrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people need to sit quietly in chapel to hear God's plans for them. For Mary Clancy, washing dishes works just fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WickedWonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedWonder/gifts).



_Dear Rachel,_

 _It's funny how even things you think you know can shift on you, isn't it? I thought when I chose to stay here that I knew what I was getting into-- all those penances we did, I thought being a nun would be a little like that, only instead of making amends to the Reverend Mother, I'd be doing it for God._

 _In some ways, being a novice is exactly like doing penance. I think I've cleaned more of St. Francis in this black dress than I ever did in that awful skirt and blazer... or at least it feels like it.But I do want to be closer to God, Rach. I know that sounds funny, for me of all people to say that, but I do. When I watch the others at chapel, they look so happy. I want that for myself! I just don't know how, and I'm beginning to be afraid that it's not for me._

 _And that's a new feeling, Rach. I'm not used to feeling scared! It doesn't feel like me, and I'm not sure I like it. Except maybe that's the point? I don't know. I wish I did. I'd give anything for one of my old scathingly brilliant ideas to take my mind off things. Do you think the bubbles in the tea would work again? This time I could actually be in the room to see it!_

 _I miss you, you old nut. It's rather lonely here. Sheila is friendly enough, because we're the only new ones right now, but she's not you. No one else will ever be as RACHEL as you. I feel like I'm invisible half the time, and it's the strangest feeling. It's what's supposed to happen, I know-- novices are the lowest of the lowly, and of course I'm only at the very beginning of that, but I spent so long trying to make sure I was Someone To Be Noticed that, well. I'm not used to it anymore, is all. And sometimes it is quite nice, when I can feel that the world is spread wide open around me, a great open space for me to fill with faith and joy and love. I just wish I could feel that all the time. I feel like I'm living in moments, and in between those moments I'm not truly alive._

 _I'm afraid this letter is rather jumbled, but that's how I'm feeling at the moment and at any rate I know you'll understand what I mean. Write me back soon, please. Tell me what's new in the big world. I'm not exactly cut off from civilization here, but it's so easy to lose track of what happens outside these walls. Tell me about the last dress you bought, the last boy you talked to. It's not so much that I miss all that for myself, but I do want to know that you're happy and having fun and loving your life._

 _Much love from  
Mary_

 

One thing about staying at the convent, Mary had found, was that it was much easier to earn a meeting with the Reverend Mother as a naughty schoolgirl than as a well-behaved novice. The paradox amused her: if someone had told her younger self that one day she would be contemplating mischief less for the fun of it than for the end result of a visit to Mother Superior's familiar office, that younger Mary would have laughed so hard that Mary of today might find herself still giggling from it.

However, if there was one thing Mary Clancy knew, it was how to bide her time. And that was how she had found herself-- irony again!-- volunteering to help set up the school before the girls returned. She pinned an apron over her dress and found herself working in the kitchen, organizing the pantry with the tall familiar figure of Reverend Mother beside her.

She could not, of course, speak first. But she was familiar enough with the Reverend Mother's near-omniscience that she knew it would not be a problem.

She was also familiar enough with Reverend Mother not to be surprised that they worked in silence for nearly an hour before the invitation came. "Is there something on your mind, Mary?"

Mary kept working, sorting cans of vegetables neatly and trying to straighten out her tangled thoughts. "There is, Reverend Mother, but... I'm not sure exactly what. If that makes sense."

"Our lifestyle has been a big change for you, hasn't it? Do you regret what you've given up?"

"No, Mother." That was a simple enough answer to give. "I'm surprised, honestly. I thought that would have been the hardest part."

"I'm not." Reverend Mother frowned thoughtfully at a rack of bread. "I had a feeling that perhaps you were more bored with that lifestyle than you were aware."

"How do you do it?" It was a question she'd been longing to ask for years now. "You always seem to know about everyone. Even from the very first day I was here, it was as if you knew exactly what I was all about."

"I did, in fact." She smiled-- the familiar, sarcastic smile that would have infuriated the younger Mary. "Oh, some of it was only experience speaking. I've known so many rebellious schoolgirls. When you're a little older you'll realize that in many respects one adolescent is much like another. But some of it-- now that you're out of school, I don't mind telling you that at times you remind me of myself, when I was young."

"I do?" Mary wasn't surprised, exactly, but she hadn't expected Reverend Mother to actually say that so directly.

"You do." Another smile, this one rather more sincere. "You're very like what I used to be, at least in temperament. And so sometimes I can read you based on how I would feel, or, in this case, how I've felt in the past."

Really, she might have expected as much. "I'm... conflicted, I suppose. I'm beginning to love this life, but I feel as if it could be so much _more_."

"And it will."

"Truly?" She didn't need to ask, but it was reassurance she craved, and the promise that there was, indeed, more to come.

"Truly, Mary." A warm hand settled on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "You've done well so far, better than I could have expected. Don't ruin your progress with impatience, my child."

"So it _will_ get better? I feel so restless, Mother. As if there were something I ought to be doing, if I could only see what it was."

"That's only natural, Mary." Reverend Mother turned back to the pantry, setting bottles of maple syrup on the breakfast shelf with jars of jam. "For a long time, you didn't know God was talking to you. And now you're aware, but listening to God is a skill like any other. It takes both patience and practice, and it won't come to you immediately."

"I see." Mary righted an upside-down can of corn, shifting it so that the label faced outwards like the ones sitting to either side of it. "Patience has never been my virtue, Reverend Mother."

"No. It isn't, is it?"

She sighed. "Will that be my test, then?"

"Mary, if that's the _only_ test you face during this period, you may consider yourself truly blessed."

The Mary of two years ago would have scowled and sulked off to her dormitory. Mary of today merely sighed again.

They worked in silence for a time, and it was not until they shifted over toward the sinks to wipe the dishes that had sat collecting dust that summer that Reverend Mother spoke again. "Are you familiar with the writing of St. Thomas Aquinas?"

"No, Mother." Mary frowned slightly. "I never was terribly attentive in school, you know, and we haven't come to him yet in our spiritual readings. I know he's important, but I don't know anything else about him."

"You should look into his books, when you have some free time. I have some volumes I could lend, if you were interested." She passed Mary a dishtowel with a small wicked smile. "You may dry. I know you'll know where everything goes."

Mary took the towel with an answering smile and picked up a glass, wiping it carefully before replacing it on the now-dusted shelf. "I'd like that, Mother, if you think it's important."

"I think perhaps you would enjoy some of what he has to say. He lived during the thirteenth century, you know, so the language is rather antiquated, but I believe you'll find a great deal in his writings to feed your mind as well as your soul." She rinsed another glass and passed it to Mary. "Do you know the four cardinal virtues?"

Mary did, in fact, but they were hardly something she cared to dwell on. "Prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance, aren't they?"

"They are. Do you know, Mary, very few people possess those qualities in equal proportion. Think about that for a minute and tell me which ones you feel you possess most strongly."

Thoughtfully, Mary wiped the last of the cups and began on the plates. "Well, justice, I suppose. I simply can't bear to see people get away with being unfair to each other."

"Yes. That is most likely your strongest virtue. Fortitude, as well-- you're a hardy little thing."

Mary smiled. "I suppose half is better than none."

"Prudence you are learning now, although you've always had at least a little bit of it. For instance, you've always had a good sense of where the line is and when you should avoid crossing it."

"Oh, Mother, that's only self-preservation."

Reverend Mother laughed. "My dear Mary, what do you think prudence is but the art of being wise and cautious enough to keep yourself safe? I grant that your brand of it is rather more self-centered than is ideal, but you're learning."

"And temperance?"

"Ah, now _that_ is your downfall. You do have a tendency to indulge your own pleasures with little regard for how others might be affected."

Mary crossed the room with a tall stack of plates, shelving them carefully. "So when I find myself pleased with the world and content with my place in it, and I find myself wishing it could feel like that always..."

"Yes. We can't have pleasure all the time, Mary, or we'd soon take it for granted. You must learn to restrain yourself, and when you do, I think you'll find that those moments of happiness are all the more valuable to you."

"But that's when I feel like I'm doing what I ought to. What I've promised to do."

Reverend Mother picked up a second dishtowel and began drying the silverware. "We do much more than simply talking to God, you know, Mary."

"Well, yes. Of course. But isn't that meant to be paramount?"

"Hardly. If it were, we would say that we converse with God, rather than serving Him. And that is what we do, Mary. We serve. It is not always pleasant, but if this is meant to be for you, you should at least find it rewarding."

Mary gathered the clean silverware into her apron and began to sort it neatly into its divided drawer. "There's a rightness to it, isn't there, Mother?"

"There is." She took a fresh cloth, scrubbing out the emptied sink. "It's not unlike the satisfaction of a job well done."

Mary shut the silverware drawer and leaned against the counter with a contented sigh. "Like this kitchen."

"Exactly like." Reverend Mother hung the cloth up to dry. "Come on, Mary. I'll lend you those books now, and we'll talk again when you've finished them."

 

 _PS: Reading back over this letter, Rach, you might think I'm unhappy. I'm not, though, not really. At times I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life. Perhaps I've just been "crystallized" and am waiting to emerge? I suppose we shall see. Cheers! MC_

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't have written this without Mary Rose Shaughnessy's account of her postulant and novitiate years with the Sisters of the Holy Cross at St. Mary's, or without the help of the Catholic Encyclopedia, in which I read a great deal. Special thanks goes to A, for beta reading.


End file.
